Tuesday, March 2, 2010

My boquet of wild flowers

From our one quarter acre plots, we only saw their spiraling pipes irrigating coffee from afar, as we fetched water on our backs from rivers hidden between steep hills.

We ached to get out of mud houses. Our life was mud. We touched it to plant, we sang to it weeding crops and we coaxed it to harvest. We mourned to it when we buried our dead in the rain. And who can forget what it is like to carry water on your back and walk on muddy ground? And there was no consolation on hot red soil either and the search for the shade of a tree in the hot season.

Why do you today steal land from Kenya’s Mau water tower? This is the water that irrigates all our land in Kenya and beyond. If you can steal this one and go free, why was my Father detained? We will protect our Aberdares, Mt. Kenya and other water towers. We refuse to anger the river, lake, and sea gods and to kill our children and animals! We are proud villagers with the courage of all fires. We ask questions for people, flora and fauna.

For the sweat of your browFor the poor,For the widows of Mau MauFor their children,I live in hope.

For you just having been, J.M. Kariuki.A Mau Mau detaineeWho flew high,Before they cut your wings,And drove pain in you.We stand by not watchingWe work.Children of many generationsFor Kenya, because of you,J.M.Kariuki.

Your spirit never died,It flew with new wings of justice.It is everywhere,And high on Ngong’ Hills.

2 March 2010

Gift

Inside me there is an outpouring. It is the kind can only be shared intimately. I will share it with you in writing. I hope you will feel like sharing more. I have a little prose, a proverb, a poem.. here held by a string of words are many of these. They make a wild boquet in my hands.

Something overflows there in my soul, where the hills are no longer hills, where mountains are inside rivers and rivers are inside mountains. If I had known that I was going to meet you here in this moment, I would have come in a dress made of soft glass so that together we sit on this unusual carpet of weeds and see everything. My dress would have been a camera.

The grass, it is so soft. I remind you my beloved, that we must never block the air from it, by the way we sit and hold our hands as we share our sunset. Air is their life as is ours in our breath. The overflow is powerful and it takes me on my wings, off my dainty feet that tried to dance towards a police van that had come for my arrest. I am extremely angry that they killed you. But your spirit flies here.

In our dreams we fly from point to point. In this very special meeting in this river without mountains, our souls merge. I feel no resistance to oneness, and I wonder if this ardor will consume me.

Should I not now take out some book that with its sweet or powerful words will save me from becoming the useless clod of mud that the police van wants to collect?

This outpouring is for my land, what have you done for yours and for your neighbour’s land? I wept for mine. Then I learned to fly on the wings of beauty. I took my country’s furniture for repair. I stood on the mountain that used to rain snow on the equator and saw it facing many faces facing it with tears of blood for justice.. justice to the grass not just to the throne.

I did had not looked at it this way, that if the people prayed facing the mountain the mountain is the one who faces them. I saw this in the mirror of the river that is in the mountain and I cried with sweetness when I saw it; after this I then cried with pain because the mirror of snow was breaking and breaking as a glacier, it was moving dangerously towards all the people that prayed facing the mountain and yet, it is the mountain that faced them.

Every drop of water, and every particle of it was a mirror of realities behind realities. If I tell the man of powers to read messages in those mirrors, the leaves will become soft copies of injustice. Take my outpouring, if it touches you, take it and pass it on. In remembering you, I want also to save the green that is defiled every time we are unjust! I wish we all held each other in love. But no. Many are in exile.

South Sahara Sno wing

When white gentleness that is nobody’s colorFalls on my shoulders gently,Lights up the sky and,brings more light,Makes me a carpet for my tired feet,Says many good mornings with every little dropSnow becomes my best welcome,My heart is warm.

It falls on my black and together we make twoIt falls on the red of our flag and joins up with That green of peace unraced.It falls all around on green, and I see my way again.So many drops of snow allow me to jog and smile.And the moment tells me, it is like no other.Never mind those who,Cannot see beyond color!

I got off my camel and left it warm,sun shining in my land but nowhere to step.Drought and hunger,And amazing snow silence;In the heat of pain and death,I shouted with my voice, and they took me to jail.Here is a new land giving,safety to my backAnd here, snow becomes,my best welcome it does!Sometimes in the contradiction of time,Lies an eternity!

in 12/12 "arts united 4 Iran'12. Dec 2009

No to tales,

No to tales hereThat the war is so old,They will never know peace!Every pain is newAll sinews knowAnd we are those bones!

Pen the gun!Isstt!! Gunfire!Women are judgesIt is time for peace!In Iran,They dress in greenand sing their voices:Children want to rejoiceand refugees a choicethis the song of our soul,Green sits on black!

I join in chorusNo to woes,No to WarsNo to talesOf war unending.My drum in unisongIs calling the day,we long for itwhen womenwill womb time spend to reach other levelswithout the sound of the gunTheir titles gladly to take!

No to tales hereThat the war is so old,They will never know peace!Every pain is newAll sinews knowWe are those bonesAnd now sing in green!!

Street thoughts early in the morning

24th Nov, a bright morning

Delirious, you swung in my languagehitting words and phrases,eager to learn what my ancestorssaid in their original words,finding changes,our tongues warmed up.

And the two of us discovered our own language,and that morning the sun rose for us,just to remind us it is one bead,that around the earth, same earth,swings to wake the moon!

We ride in on the edge of an early morn,with clear light and softness for the face,we rode so high and the morning hope,did see us tremble in our own words.

Here the gods take the sky, ring it and dry it,and hung it out over humankind in winter.There is the church I could not see yesterday at midday,there is a face today so bright and a baby,looks at me with amazing persistence from tiny cot,

Little bogir* who ever you might be,When the pram is done and you take the tram,Don’t let the world cheat you as Mother has not,That color is where to begin the heart to meet.The colours in this colourful bead you want,Are all one, black in red and green and whiteBlue and grey in yellow is ripe.

Mu Suchua,If they take you to prison;When you step in prison,because you spoke your truth, to them;and it was bitter than gall;if they open the prison door’and turn the key, and you remain in,remember this, Mu Suchua, they have not locked your power.You have it in your heart, and all over the world, your souls are ours,For your love for Cambodia, sing freedom, let us sing!In your love for Cambodia, we love you Mu Suchua,you who stares like a lion at the face of evil,speaks clearly like faith in the face of power,speaking truth to power, speaking truth to evil,frightening them till their hearts and tails recoil,and you bringing love; to women who keep dancing!In your love for Cambodia, We thank you Mu Suchua.With tears in our eyes, Mo Suchua, but never mind our tears!We the women of the world, who stand up for all children,we the women with a pulse that runs faster as children fall in Gaza,we the women who refuse to keep silent.we the women; Mo Suchua.Take with you Aung San Suu Kyi spirit,when they turn the key your souls are ours,we turn up our cry!We arrest ourselves for her house arrest we give our souls,we know of her pain in Burma, arrested in our wombs,we have given many births, and she was still under arrest.Many suns have risen and set, calling the moon to her turn,our daughters and sons grown tall as Aung San Suu Kyi!and she, minute by minute serving a sentence; and finally the ridicule.tell, me, who should be trying who?Aung San Suu Kyi, should try Burma and then the world,as she holds hands with Mu Suchua and our sister Hasina.Hasina she says no to human trafficking,Hasina today she walks to court gallantly,Hasina she holds her files of a firm called Impulse!I like it Hasina I see the passion!But to Hasina they send a woman to beat her,Hasina is beaten and threatened today, this afternoonOutside court and police watching,But before nightfall we are all there; from four all corners of the world,We have come, via internet pulse,to pick up Hasina!The way attorney Ann Njogu came at midnightto get me out of dark and lonely and wet cells,Only male cops for my falls but her soul was mine,We are now here to touch and heal Hasina’s wounds,The way Laetitia came to soothe mine!They ask us how can these women dance across nations with such a pulse,Hasina in … in Shuuuling…never mind the best have not heard of it,Aung San Suu Kyi… you know our uncles and fathers fought in Burma,brought by the British the innercore of violence,all the way from our villages still madmen walk,singing of when they were in Burma and touching medallions!and then they ask us how we dance to continents with our souls of peace?!Free our history! Free Cambodia! Free Burma! Free Kenya! Free the world!They tied up the world’s women and turned away,you put structures in the hands of men with and vested them raw power,you know our aches come mainly from the same source,if we follow the river to the source, we will get our cure,and use it like manure to sprint to the future,the past is bleak but we learn from it.So if you go into exile Hasina Kharbhih, if you do,if you have to be taken away to a place of peace,remember to talk to all nations of peace and justice,remember we are here dancing with you,bleeding and dancing in the revolution of women of peace!Our souls are yours!Mu Suchua dancing,Dancing with Harriet Tubman,Spiriting blacks to freedom!Aung San Suu Kyi, writing,dancing with Gertrude Stein,writing of ourselves and for strangers.making Hasina Kharbhih go, Stein tells Hasina,the strangers, ‘dear friend, are an afterthought!”and all women dance along to “make many mad!”but making any one who would claim sense think!Sophie Dowallar drums to the beat,Sings to da beat.Drums to da beat, dala na, dala na Mama!Making world women go marching and dancing!Women, the lords of the dance!

12 CommentsSo beautifulOn June 15, 2009, JaniceW wrote:Philo, it's so wonderful to hear from you again. I see the spirits of all the women on PulseWire rising up in dance, moving to the rhythmic flow of your words, as they carry their love and strength to these three women. A truly powerful and beautiful poem. Thank you!Philo, I'm very worried aboutOn June 15, 2009, Kizzie wrote:Hi Philo!I'm very worried about Aung San Suu Kyi. The world is really helpless, we don't know what should be done about the dictatorship in Burma. The real change is going to come from within. Remember the 2007 protests? The Burmese people are very brave and resilient. They need all the support they can get.Have you read Aung San's writings? She is very touching!On June 15, 2009, jadefrank wrote:Hi Philo!When I saw your picture in Voices Rising, I could not wait to read your new journal as I enjoy your writing so much. What a moving tribute to the courageous World Pulse women who are being persecuted unjustly in their own countries. Please do write a follow-up journal with details and reflections from your vigil tomorrow. I will light a candle as well.

Hi Philo!This is my favorite part:We the women of the world, who stand up for all children,We the women with a pulse that runs faster as children fall in Gaza,We the women who refuse to keep silent.We the women; Mo Suchua.Take with you Aung San Suu Kyi spirit,When they turn the key your souls are ours,We turn up our cry!and:And all women dance along to “make many mad!”But making any one who would claim sense think!Sophie Dowallar drums to the beat,Sings to da beat,Drums to da beat, dala na, dala na Mama!Making world women go marching and dancing!Women, the lords of the dance!I love your posts always, and your poems are so great!MariaWonderfulOn June 25, 2009, LOGWELL wrote:Hi Philo,This is a very powerful and creative poem for an equally strong and powerful woman. Yes indeed, women , the lords of the dance.CheersThis moves my soul as I'mOn July 6, 2009, Lycia Ora wrote:This moves my soul as I'm sure it does so many others who read in your words what our own hearts and souls have been yearning to cry out to the world. Your words speak in that universal language of unity, courage, strength and resilience that is every woman. Thank you for speaking for all of us.Natasha Lycia Ora Bannan

Sink conversations

I was washing some dishes in my kitchen. My radio was on BBC World Service but by now it was fading in the background as the tap water run and I put some green lemon liquid soap on a green scouring pad, and I let the warm water run.

The water was not warm from electrical heating, in fact, I do not have heated water in my kitchen here in Nairobi where I live in a gorgeous little flat near Uhuru Park. No it was naturally warm water due to the warm temperatures with us even as May sails in. It was very hot in the preceding months of this year 2008, but we hardly had time to realize it was so hot, as Kenya was on fire.

Well, I was washing the orange specked plates that I have and as I went on from a plate to a cup, suddenly a great feeling of victory filled my heart and mind. I remembered how until recently, I had no time for these chores. I was busy campaigning for political office. Someone else had to do them. I failed to get office. I heaved a sigh of relief.

It felt so good to just do put the drops soap on the scouring pad and clean! You know the typical light scouring pads we have there? The ones that usually come in dark green, and clean quite well? I wonder if this is what my pen would be doing in an elective office if I had managed to get in? Cleaning up? Or would I too be making things less clear?

The soap, which I had noticed for the first time on the supermarket shelves only this year, politics can make you blind, was great. It lasted very, long. Very, very long and was better than the one we used to use when my assistant was here. Why had I not noticed it was going to waste in my own house? Would I have noticed office irregularities if I had taken office and the oath of office?

The soap- was soft and true to its label, kind on hands. If it had already been several years on the shelves had active life made me run to the same shelves and the same counters all the time?

Had I lost time to explore new things in the three years that preceded the election? Would I have had the time to notice its loss of quality were it to happen and asked questions in Parliament on behalf of women who usually end up being the ones who buy these things?

I would shudder that it would eventually lose its good quality but for now, nice suds, a feeling of clean, no clinging grease or thin films, just so joyous!!!

I loved this, standing at the sink and cleaning dishes. I always remember that feeling of ‘oh, professional women like yourself, should be doing far more important things than wasting time in the kitchen! Do they know about the sink conversations?

I heard his voice again, and beyond the voice a certain feeling of, I had learned to describe it now, frustration? I think so, I refused to give in. Why would anyone or society always prescribe where one should be? I decided to always go against the grain. Why did I have to feel that something was being robbed off me, me alone in the kitchen cleaning up? Could I not make this my daily creative meditation? Why not? Could I manage to be creative at the sink? I decided to enjoy it.

The little suds are off the plate, the water gushes from my taps. My kitchen view is into a garden with jacaranda trees and a lot of green. Green grass. A tree or shrub but quite high with bright red petals of flowers on it declares to the world that green can hold up red. Both are colors of our flag with black of course.. and a streak of white for peace, they said.. as if black is for war? Clotheslines. Many of them for all the people living in this silent and quiet block of flats; where really only I had a child in block A are minding their various businesses. All the other kids who usually come up to play in the small sitting room on a second hand playstation live in blocks H, F and C are on holidays. There were days I had many as 12 kids of all ages here, to see my son.

Zzzreeee goes the water and am through. I clean up that little yellow yoghurt slipped off my son’s cup and I am ready. I want to make the kitchen sparkle clean, but it will take some long practice hours to clean up a nation.

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I

I think of your new wingsWhen children play.When the light comesAnd everything comes alive.See what I hearNear me, far away but always with me.

Part two

Poems set free

My poem’s house

Will you come into my house? Said the mouse to my wide eyes?A one room house, full of toys and games too!,There is in our room tea, bread and sweet jam and poems to eat!

And at night, the moon and the train,Come to whizz us off, as we sleep on our bed,And off we go to dream land! zuum, zuum, zuum!Yes, I come, I said! With my eyes wide open!To a world of sweet poetry am flying like a butterfly!

Sing a Song! a song, song!

Songa Songa!

It is time for fun!Bring your laughter!Leave your hunger.

Songa, songa!

And tell your anger,to wait a little longer,It is time for fun!

Songa, songa!

Tell the flying bee to fly away!as on the river we dance,Tell the duck to join in!

Songa, songa!

Leave your anger,Come to my left,Come to my right,Hold out your hands,In a circle we go!

Songa Songa!

Maize

Maize, maizeMe you amaze,Where did you get your gaze?So many teeth on your face,Your soft hair you keep combing!And coming back to us!

Maize, MaizeYou never laze,Your gift of strength to all you give,Maize maize on you we lean,And with beans you make good food!For us to eat!

I hear bells ringingGirls are singing!Bells ringing I hear,Boys are singing too,There are songs in my ear!

The grass is singing here,There are no tears in our eyes!Cows are munching, moving and looking,We want to play skipping and kicking!

The world is smiling,Winking stars are peeping,Behind the moon and clouds in the night!And now am sleeping,Dreaming and dancing and skipping and singing away!

Mosquito Mbu!

Mosquito, Mosquito will you go away?Mbu! Mbu! Umbu!!! mbu, mbu!!You came with the rain and what did you bring?The rain brought grain and you brought pain,With your sting and sting on wings!

Mosquito, Mosquito, don’t play with me,Am inside the net, you go outside my tent,And look for the rain again!Mosquito, Mosquito the rain brings gain,You just ask the sun to play in the plains!

Mosquito, Mosquito, sting none of us!You must go away a monkey to tease,Pleaaaaaaassseeee, you marry the sun!With your zeeee and zeeee and zeee! Umbu! umbu! umbu!

Sunshine

Sunshine on the hill looks like golden air,Sun on brown leaves looks like lovely fire! Sunshine on the grass is a shining green carpet,Sunshine in the wind is like a moving car.

I love the hills in the golden sunshine!The sun bathes the trees, earth is so clear!The grass grows up tall, its hands in the air!And I stretch my hands and feet and dance!

I catch a berry it is for mum,I catch a leaf it is for my goat,I catch some sticks, they are for my drum,Tum, tum, tum, tum! tum! tum!I touch the wind behind my coat!

I run like the wind, a tree to plant!I look at the sun and I know my dream,I ask it to shine and shine for my pet,My goat goes meeeeh, meeh, meeh! An ant goes, tat, tat, tat! tat ! tat !

The flower

See that flower in the morning!It greets you and you smile!

See that flower when the sun is up,It greets you and closes up!

See that flower in the evening,Smiling at the moon and waiting.

See that flower in the night!Not afraid of the dark it says goodnight,and goes to sleep after greeting God!

Where are you?

River, where is your head,and why is your tail?River, River, so long you are,Your head in the mountains,Your tail in the sea,How do you see,As you go to the sea?

River, River, I saw you from the bridge?Never in a fridge,I saw you from my boat.As rowing I went.And the sun it smiledAt your tail in the Indian Ocean!

Are you one river or many rivers, the whole world over?River, river you are so clever,ears and eyes all over,Some homes in the lakes,and others in the ridges,You are so clever river, river,I want you to stay clean forever!

Fishes in Lake Victoria

Small fishes, tiny Omena,They swam so fast for Amina,Tiny fishes, so sweet and swift,They swam so fast to their granny fish!To keep them safe!

Granny Akitelek,I love your heart,It is big and bright!And so full of warmth!

My mum sent me

I run fast,I want to go past,those ones playing football!Today I cant go, kick, kick!With other players in the field!

Today, I must kick, the ball as I go,And play the football of family!I am playing for daddy,Am the goalkeeper,Who is a sweeper with a smile!

Today am playing for mummy,With my sister’s pain in the tummy!Am the doctor in the house today,So that my sister can run fast tomorrow!

I kick pain away with the medicine I bought!I kick dirt with my broom without sorrow!I fly like a wing with a swing!I am the goalie, my sister the striker,My mother cheers and dad has no fears!We are a team in joy and sorrow!

Thank you earth for peanuts!

Thank you sun for under the earth,You keep things that are sweet to eat!Oh, sweet, sweet potato,When goats smell your vines, they bleat!You keep nuts and potatoes in a secret store!

Thank you earth for above yourself,You show off beans of so many colours,This one is fat and plain red,This one is tiny and maroon,This one is brown and black,This other bean is just so sweet!You like beige and I love green!

This other bean is just dark black,With a white slit around its top!This other one is a cowpea,Drying in the sun,and full of hope!

How I love your fields of bean,And their Creator who cares for my health!

I like these sounds to hear

The sound of food boiling in the pot,rurururuuu, ruuuurrruuuu, ru!The sound of rain falling on the roof,Tatatatatttta, tattatttat, ttatttaaaa, uuuuuhm!And I asleep on Saturday morning,In my blanket deep!

The sound of birds telling stories,Wi, wip, chwi, che, kwin, kwi, kwi! In the morning!The din of the town where dad beats tin,Din, din, din, din, din till it shines!

The sound of my mother singing lullabies,oiyooo, Oiyooo, Oiyooo, Oiyoo, lulla lulla lullaby!And reading stories, telling stories, as she also counts,One story, two story, three story and here is glory!All these sounds to me are money!All these sounds to me are honey!All these sounds to me are life!

My aeroplane

I drew my aeroplane and it flew,Flew in my mind,Flew in the wind!I made my aeroplane and it flew!Flew in the sky, Flew in my hand!

One dry maize leaf,It had for wings,One stick in the middle,It had for body,And its engine me running,Fast and singing,aeroplane fly, aeroplane fly!

Then I looked up in the sky,Saw a big jumbo,floating there,Pilot Jambo!How is it there?Come along and sit I heard!Excited I jumped inTwo hundred people sat and flew,Not a problem, they watched films!Flew in my mind,Flew over my land!I must wake up,And run to school!

Grasshopper affair

Grasshopper, grasshopper, Do you kiss the sun?No my son, No my daughter.

I love watching rivers flowing,Singing songs to birds,Listening to the wind blowing,Dancing with all my soul!

I love seeing the rain falling,Dancing to its Creator,Watching beans growing,And the early sun glowing,So sweetly on their leaves!

She looks like she is dancing?

Sometimes, just sometimes, something holds her down or seems to hold her down. But not her. She moves, she walks along, jogs, runs, plays and she is new again.. and all this time they think she is dancing. She creates. She writes. She moves on.From clnics in Rwanda to painful burials in a village in which post poll violence took lives, making women, children and youth wear a crown of thorns made by politicians.... and now they skip the long delayed mass burial... and all of them have valid reasons for not being there...Women watch and wonder. They knit. They light little fires. They twist their lips and make sounds about motherland. They walk, they run, they skip... and the people think they are dancing. We have endured... post partum blues of a nation. And someone says to us... or to her... in unconquerable Kiswahili..." eh, ni nini mama naniiiii?" ("what is the thing mother of thingy?") and somewhere else... " iiii ni kii nyina wa twana?" ( hey, what is it mother of children?) Why should she not be this uneasy? And she writes and moves, looks and prays and sometimes sees a black cloud as she passes past State House. She sees it on a bright and shiny afternoon.. she sees it. It hovers above the trees... flies up to the top and hangs about there... a black cloud of death. And she cleans the road... and picks up papers and she hums... she sings. She also remembers the high cost of milk... but most of all, the black cloud hovers that there and darkens and does not fall in rain....What will make it rain?You see, they say she is dancing and singing like all women do, they say. She looks like she is dancing..and they do not see more.